Desert Night
by NewPaladin
Summary: Neither of them ever mention that night, he out of respect and she out of pain. Fado, Ismaire.


Written for areyougame for the prompt; Fado/Ismaire: affair - _neither of them ever mentioned that night._

__Unfortunately it's not really a shipping fic ._. I was made of fail. I still like it as it is, though, the prompter was happy with it 8D Yay. Ismaire is hard to write, by the way.

* * *

The desert flowers beneath his window emitted a sickly sweet smell and dazzled his mind. The garden of the palace unfurled below him, at the well of the small pool. Tall palm trees, bright red flowers cowering beneath said trees and lush grass followed the trickle of clear water and gradually spread over the inner courtyard. There were lanterns attached to some of the trees; they were casting a warm light in the quickly approaching desert night.

The strong smell and the sudden change of temperature had made Fado sleepy. The coolness of the air was extremely pleasant, but awkward after the long hours of heat. The daytime would be unbearable if the palace hadn't been planned that smartly. Which was unsurprising, Fado thought, his mind moving at the pace of a slug. If he were living here, he would personally make sure that everything was well aired. Closing his eyes, he sighed and focused the little concentration he could gather on the drop of sweat that was creeping down his neck.

Shortly before the drop of sweat could be absorbed by his linen shirt, a loud bird cry made him flinch. Frowning, he sighed. He knew there were songbirds somewhere in the garden – Ismaire had shown him their cage earlier or maybe yesterday, Fado didn't remember – but even if their songs were kind of nice, he disliked birds. He only liked them if he had a bow in hand and aiming an arrow at their heart. He slumped in his seat, resting his head on his arm lying on the windowsill, and was already drifting off to sleep when he heard a light knock.

Blinking slowly, he tilted his head so he could see the door. "Who's there?" he called. The door was opened gently. Fado raised his head, pleasantly surprised, when he saw that no other than Queen Ismaire entered. She had changed her clothes – some of her jewellery had disappeared, the dress seemed to be lighter – but still looked very much queenly. Unlike him.

She smiled reserved and nodded to him as she walked over. "You seem to feel at home."

Fado smiled lopsidedly. "I feel very comfortable here, that much is true, now that the sun is disappearing. Still, wearing even one more piece of clothing would be too unbearable." He was already wearing just a very thin shirt and breeches – if it would've been proper, he would've taken them off as well.

Ismaire inclined her head. "That is a common complaint of guests."

Fado nodded and straightened, though unwilling. "What brings you here– may I call you Ismaire?" – she nodded – "what brings you here, Ismaire?" She carefully gathered her dress and sat down next to Fado on the chaise.

"I've wanted to see how you're feeling."

"I'm perfectly well," he answered, puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

"Earlier it seemed to me that you were not feeling well." She inclined her head to him. "You looked very exhausted during the negotiation. I was worried for your health."

Fado snorted amused and fully sat up, turning his body towards Ismaire. "I assure you that a little heat won't kill me."

"Greater men were already slain by the Jehannan Heat."

"Hah," Fado laughed dismissively. "They can't have been that great then." Ismaire's smile slowly grew into a smirk.

"Yes, I'm sure you know more about great men and their ability to endure heat than me." A deep crease carved itself into Fado's forehead.

"I don't remember you being so cheeky." Ismaire chuckled under her breath and pushed her long red hair over her shoulder.

"I do not know why you believe I'm being cheeky. I was only agreeing with you." Fado brightened and grinned at her.

"Thank you for your concern," he said and bowed his head to her. She nodded in answer and turned away from him then. Fado watched her for a moment – he was impressed by her seemingly natural elegance. Every tiny movement of her looked perfect and carefully planned; how her hair fell over her cheeks, how her hands were placed on her thigh, how her legs were crossed.

She looked strangely arranged, Fado thought with a frown. Carefully constructed so that nothing looked out of place. "How are you feeling?" shot out of his mouth before he could think about the situation.

"I'm well," she answered curtly but friendly. Yet, her smile felt cold. Fado felt the urge to press further, but bit his lips. He had heard the news just a few weeks prior; he couldn't image how he would feel if Eirika and Ephraim suddenly disappeared. And it was also rumoured that the prince left voluntarily. Fado swallowed hard and leaned towards the window, looking out again. He wasn't the right one to talk about this anyway – Ismaire surely had someone closer to her who would support her.

They stayed silent for a long while. The smell of the flowers was slowly lessening and fresh air was washing through the room. Fado closed his eyes when another breeze caressed his face. He started to wonder if Ismaire wanted him to press further. Wouldn't she have left already if she just wanted to ask about his health? Fado lowered his eyes to the windowsill, tracing the light nicks and scratches on the stone. Suddenly, there was another bird cry and Fado raised his head, trying to find the white cage behind the trees and bushes.

"Are the birds always so loud?" he asked, resting his head on his hand.

"Yes." Fado heard her shift. "They were a gift of my late husband." Fado paused – it sounded like an invitation…

"A fugacious gift."

Ismaire stayed silent for a moment. "They're the children and grandchildren of the original birds." Fado's mouth twitched into a small smile.

"A gift that is reborn over and over again." He looked over his shoulder and smiled broader. "Fitting." Ismaire was looking past him at some point on the wall on the other side of the garden. Her expression was blank – and yet, even now she looked perfect and immaculate. "It will always stay with you."

Suddenly a twitch of her forehead broke the perfection. "Yes… yes, it will." Fado paused, his gaze flickering back and forth between her and the ground. He didn't really know how to continue.

"Are you sure you're feeling well?" His voice sounded awkward, he found. Laced with an insecurity that didn't fit to him – but it was very hard to understand Ismaire.

"Of course I am." was her curt answer. Suddenly, she whipped her head away from him and stood up. Fado startled and sat up.

"Wait," he exclaimed before his brain had caught up with his mouth. Ismaire looked at him with a polite but cold smile. They stared at each other for a moment – Fado was raking his brain for something to say.

"King Fado, it was a pleasure talking with you," Ismaire said eventually and bowed her head to him. "I wish you a good night." She turned and strode over to the door – even her dress billowed elegantly around her legs.

"It does get better," Fado spouted. Ismaire's movements slowed. "Not better in the way that you're feeling well again. But it will be easier to think about." He lowered his gaze and stared at the cream-coloured fabric of the chaise. "It will be easier to go on with your life."

"Even if there's no reason to? Even if it's obvious that you're impossible to be around?" Fado pressed his lips close tightly.

"There are people around you who love you."

"My own son ran away because of me." Fado turned away, staring at the ground.

"Sometimes… people repel each other even though they love each other. And he's not dead. You can still make up."

"You're an optimistic man." Her remark sounded sharp.

"It's a good motivator," he mumbled. "And it's less painful." Ismaire didn't answer or continued the conversation, and yet she still hadn't opened the door yet. Fado grew more and more uncomfortable in his skin. It felt like the warmth that the night had just shooed away was hiding under his clothes.

"It doesn't matter," Ismaire whispered eventually. "Jehanna still needs me. I cannot give up…" Fado closed his eyes, a dull ache throbbing against his temples – the heat was getting to him after all. "Until Joshua comes back to take my place."

The door swung open and close and as soon as Fado heard the 'click' of the lock, he released a deep sigh. He could look up again and a cool breeze tickled over his neck. Only a whiff of the sweet fragrance was carried into the room; the flowers had probably closed their petals by now. The lanterns flickered as some of them were dying – a servant eventually hurried to them and exchanged them. The birds were sleeping and only the quiet ripple of the well floated up to Fado's window.


End file.
